


Gardening With Delia

by Beallandendall



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 21:14:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12779643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beallandendall/pseuds/Beallandendall
Summary: Mostly fluffy one-shot story, if internment camp can be fluffy, showing a sliver of Patsy's early life.





	Gardening With Delia

1965, Spring 

Patsy stood in the middle of a large allotment garden, watching as Delia hopped around waving a trowel. There were other people dotted about, working their plots in the morning sun. 

“The tomatoes can go over on this end, peas over there, and the potatoes, and this fall, we can grow some chard.” She was looking over their new plot, a four foot by eight foot rectangle of soil. Delia had been enthusing about it for weeks, ever since the plot was assigned to her. This morning, they stopped in at Nonnatus House to borrow tools and a few seeds from Fred. 

“Mind you keep an eye on my water can,” he said as they left. 

“Right, then. I’ll start weeding.” Delia knelt down and set to with a trowel, rapidly clearing out the small plot. “I used to do this with my Da,” she said. “Everyone back home had as large a vegetable garden as they could manage. If we had more space, we could add leeks, and carrots, even a pepper plant.” She looked up at Patsy, who smiled.

Delia laughed. “Well, it’s clear you’re not going to be much help.” She finished weeding, and Patsy put the weeds into a basket. 

“I think I can manage to haul this away.” 

When Patsy returned from the compost pile, Delia had turned over all the soil, and was ready to plant. “These gloves are a bit ridiculous,” she announced.

With that, she pulled them off, dropping them on the path. “I love to feel the fresh earth.” Patsy made a face at her. “Oh, Pats, you should try it. Don’t worry, there’s a tap over there, I’ll wash up before we go home.”

“Well, I can’t stop you.” Patsy grinned. “But I’m not joining in your little dirt party.” She was enjoying the sight of Delia made happy by such a small patch of land. Maybe they should think about getting a cottage someday, one with a proper garden…

Delia popped off her shoes and socks, and walked over the soil. “My Da would tell me I shouldn’t do this, it packs everything down again, but this is my favorite part.” She looked down at her feet, spreading her toes, half covered in dirt. “And don’t worry, Pats, I’ll wash them off, too. I guess I should get back to work. I’ll just fix my footprints, and start planting.” She looked up. Patsy was holding her shoes and socks, a faraway look on her face. “Pats?”

Spring, 1942

Patsy and Grace were in front of the hut. Their father was gone, somewhere else with all the men, and the women and children had been brought here. Everything was strange and different, with so many harsh new rules, and it was hard to know what they could do, and what would lead to a beating.

Grace saw a puddle. “Mud pies!” 

“Oh, Grace, you’re too old for that,” Patsy scoffed, but Grace was not listening. She dipped her hands in first, and then took her shoes and socks off.

“Grace, there’s no one to wash your clothes…”

Grace stood up, and happily splashed through a puddle. Patsy watched her, thinking that such joyful moments were very rare, now. Mother would be angry about the washing, but Patsy could scrub the dirt off at the pump. Maybe she was young enough to make a mud pie, too, if she was careful not to get dirty. It was hard, sometimes, being the older sister. 

A boy stood nearby, watching them. He was Grace’s age, quite dirty, and barefoot. He was watching Grace, warily. Suddenly, he grabbed the shoes, and dashed off down the row of huts. Patsy yelled, and took off after him, but he was lost in a crowd before she could catch him.

She walked back to their hut. Grace was looking up at her, mud pies forgotten. “Shoes gone?”

“I’m afraid so, Grace. I think that boy decided he needed them more than we did. Let’s go to the pump and get you cleaned up.” They started walking, but Grace complained that her feet hurt. Patsy took off her shoes, and put them on Grace.

“I’m growing out of them anyway.” Patsy lied. 

“They’re too big for me,” Grace complained. 

“Well, but you’re such a big girl now, you’ll grow into them in no time.” Patsy shook a finger in her sister’s face. “But you be careful with them! No taking them off outside. Ever!”

Grace nodded. Patsy worked the pump, and scrubbed the dirt from Grace with her other hand. They went back to the hut to dry off. Mother was in the hut; she’d been helping one of the other women who had a little child, much smaller than Grace. She noticed the shoes right away, of course. 

“Grace, you’re wearing Patsy’s shoes, dear.”

“She gave them to me after mine were gone. I’ll be very careful with them, I promised.”

Mother looked at Patsy, and smiled. “Good for you, Patsy. Now you and I will have to find a pair for you."

 

“Pats?”

Delia was looking at her. “Pats, what’s wrong? You look a million miles away.”

“Nothing. Old memories I thought I’d forgotten.”

“I’m sorry. Look, I can do the garden on my own, if it brings up bad times…”

Patsy shook her head. “No, I’m alright. It’s nice, in a way. Grace liked to stomp around in the dirt, too. Shortly after we arrived in camp, a boy stole Grace’s shoes right in front of me.” She smiled. “I gave her mine, to grow into. Mum found me a pair of sandals, made out of wood and cloth. I wore them for three years, my toes stuck out the end when we left camp.”

“But what’s nice about losing shoes?”

“It wasn’t the shoes, it was seeing Mother and Grace again, in my head. Most of the time, I can’t picture them at all, except for those last days in hospital with typhus, but I saw both of them, clear as day. Grace was even laughing; till she realized her shoes were gone. And Mum, so pleased when she gave me my sandals.”

“Well, I can see you’re keeping my shoes safe.” Delia winked.

“You can be head gardener, and I’ll be keeper of the shoes.” Patsy laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to show two things - first, that Delia isn't the only one with memory lapses, and second, that Patsy has faced her demons enough to be able to talk about the non-dramatic bits without it being a big deal.


End file.
